


Nostalgia

by days4daisy



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Blow Jobs, Chocolate Box Treat, Crossover, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:19:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: The Enterprise's lights expose Han Solo for what he is. A criminal. A threat. A really bad idea.





	Nostalgia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ephemeralblossom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralblossom/gifts).



> Happy choco box, ephemeralblossom! I loved your crossover prompts - I hope you like this treat :)

“On one condition.”

Jim’s grimace is subtle, a slight wince and downward tick of his mouth. It’s still enough to pique Spock's interest. His gaze shifts curiously between his captain and the smuggler.

Han Solo stands on the other side of the hangar bay with hands on his hips and a too-familiar smirk. Behind him, the Millenium Falcon is anchored in wait. Same old ship Han was piloting last time Jim saw him. It's an even bigger piece of junk than it was back then.

“What condition?” Spock asks.

Han looks pointedly at Jim. “He knows.”

Spock frowns. “Captain,” he says slowly, “I’m unclear on the terms that are being proposed. But if this added clause is to the detriment of your safety or the rest of the crew, may I remind you that-”

That they have other options, of course. Jim waves off Spock's concern. Asking smugglers for passage to Tatooine never should have been their first choice. And if this has to be their course, there are other smugglers in the galaxy. They don’t have to rely on this one because he was the first Jim thought of.

Han’s tongue darts over his lips. Jim doesn’t miss it.

“Captain,” Spock repeats, more insistent.

“Mister Spock,” Jim says, “pay the man.”

Han grins. “See? Was that so hard?”

Jim stalks out of the docking bay before he's forced to dignify the choice of words with a response.

***

“Captain, huh?”

Jim doesn’t bother asking how Han got into his office, or why he’s sitting at Jim’s desk with his feet propped up. He’s out of place under the glow of the Federation’s most advanced exploration vessel. The Enterprise's lights expose Han Solo for what he is. A criminal. A threat. A really bad idea.

Han is better for being older. He’s grown into the outlaw part; scuffed boots, leather holsters, vest slouched off his shoulders.

“Didn’t think I’d make it off that rock, did you?” Jim asks.

“Didn’t think you’d last there as long as you did.” Han tips his head against a shoulder and considers Jim with a smile. “Gotta admit, I didn’t see this cleaned up act coming.”

“It’s not an act,” Jim says, more defensive than he should be. “I’ve got the galaxy at my fingertips and a crew who trusts me.” He comes around his desk and leans back, Han’s crossed feet next to his hip.

“Have to grow up sometime, I guess.” Han’s mouth ticks up. “The uniform suits you.” He taps the toe of a boot against Jim’s side.

“You’re a dick,” Jim says, and Han laughs. It's like they're back in Iowa, slinging shots.

Han had on low-slung slacks the first time Jim saw him, and a smirk made for trouble. Jim picked him out at the bar; he started this mess.

“You’re not thinking of cramping on my turf, are ya, kid?” Han has a way of looking like he cares and doesn't at the same time. “Jabba’s not on the Federation’s faves list, but he makes me good money.”

“He’s a crime lord,” Jim says, “and a murderer.” Two things Jim knows Han won’t care about. True to form, Han rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “No,” Jim adds under his breath. “We're not looking for Jabba.”

“What the hell else could you want on Tatooine?” Han's eyes flicker, exposing very real curiosity. “It’s a trash heap. Nothing but sand and sin, as they say.”

“No one says that,” Jim says. He doesn't answer Han’s question.

His silence sharpens Han’s interest. “Ok,” he says, and sits up abruptly. His legs swing off the desk, parting in an open ‘v,’ and he grabs a fistful of Jim’s shirt. Jim huffs, and Han's smile grows. “You’re so serious now! Not sure if I like it.”

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Jim counters.

“Hey now," Han puts on a wounded face, "one of us had to keep the charm. After all,” his pout fades, “you owe me, kid. I told you I’d collect one day, didn’t I?”

Jim sighs. “Could've done without the ship-wide broadcast. You had Spock thinking you were holding me ransom.”

“That’s what you get, hanging out with a damn Vulcan. He good?”

“The best,” Jim says, and he means it. “This coming from the guy whose first mate is a Wookiee.”

“Say that to his face,” Han dares, grinning. “What’s Chewie ever done to you anyway? He likes you, come on.”

“Broke my nose,” Jim mutters.

Han blinks, frowns, then bursts out laughing. “Oh yeah, I forgot about that! Back at - aw hell, what’d they call that dive? Rusty's? Your own damn fault for beating him at sabacc. I told you he was a sore loser.”

“Couldn’t smell anything for a month,” Jim says, frowning. “Next time I saw him, he pat my head like a damn cat. Didn’t say one thing about it.”

“See? Likes you.” Han tugs Jim's shirt impatiently and puts on a long-suffering face. “Why’re you so pretty, huh?” His bruised knuckles look wrong knotted in a Federation uniform. The strangeness makes Jim’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Shut up,” he says, trying to save face.

Jim thinks of the back booth at their old Iowa bar. They took shots from pinkie-thick vials, and Han teased fingers through his hair. _Pretty boy_ , Han would purr, low and provoking. _Bet you hate that, huh? Bet you want to do something about it._

Jim did hate it. 'Doing something about it' usually involved ripping both their clothes off in record time.

Han thumbs the front of Jim’s uniform. “Think I’ll make you do it here,” he muses. Jim doesn’t like the idea. He plucks Han’s hand off his clothes.

Han snorts. “Playing hard to get ain’t your strong suit, kid.” He winds his arm around Jim’s waist. It’s a loose grip, one Jim can break if he chooses. If. Jim sighs.

“So much for being a nice guy,” Jim mutters. He can’t quite keep the smile out of his words.

“What do you mean?” Han asks, chin against his stomach. His eyes are wide, all affected innocence. “I’m as nice as they come.”

Jim can’t help himself, he runs a hand through Han’s hair. Memories flood him, like the strands sifting through his fingers. “Taking over a man’s office without permission is nice?”

“What’s the point of having an office if it can’t be taken over?” Han retorts.

He has a point. Still, it’s one thing to allow a reunion between past...friends? Fuck buddies? Whatever they were? It’s another to give Han what he wants, and give it to him _here_. Jim hates the heat that creeps under his uniform at the thought.

“I think.” Han’s tongue pokes against the inside of a cheek. “We should get reacquainted.”

“Thought that’s what we were doing,” Jim says. “Old pals catching up.” Han’s face falls with a brow-knotting huff, and Jim allows himself to feel satisfied, if only for a second.

Han’s disappointment becomes darker eyes and hard lines. “Hey, captain?” Han stands, and Jim finds himself caught between his body and the desk. When Han shoves him back, papers and a holopad crash to the floor.

Han's kiss smothers Jim’s scowl. He kisses like he runs ops, guns blazing, no easing in. Jim’s temper flares, but he pushes forward instead of back. It doesn’t take long for Jim's jaw to ache or his lips to rub raw. 

“Aw,” Han murmurs softly. “Your mouth still does that thing.”

“...What?”

“Gets all pink.” Han’s tongue darts out to tease Jim’s lips. The sting sets his nerves on edge. “Imagine how good it'll look when you’re done.” Right, what Han is here for.

Jim huffs to cover the hammering in his chest. “Five damn years, and you’re still mad that I never gave you head.”

“Hey, you’re the one who said to name my price.” Han speaks low and close to Jim’s mouth. Jim licks his lips, tasting their swelling. Want and nostalgia hit him harder than he's ready for.

Jim braces himself back on the desk for support. “I was thinking credits!” Jim argues. “Federation provisions. Repairs for your ship-”

“The Falcon doesn’t need repairs.” Han’s teasing hardens to offense.

Jim balks when Han cups his face, but he can't hide his shudder at the thumb that strokes his mouth. Han’s gaze shifts pointedly to Jim’s lips. “You’re giving me credits anyway,” he says, “and I ain’t a Fed. All provisions’ll do is set me up for hard times if the Empire catches on.”

Han's words are like ice down Jim's back. “All the more reason to have back-up,” he argues. “If things go sideways, you won’t have the luxury to play both sides, Han.”

“Kid, I live in luxury.” Han smiles, but his words have an edge. “I ain’t fighting your war. You want passage to the Outer Rim? Great, but you can keep your galactic mess. Me n’ Chewie are just fine on our own.”

Jim used to think like Han. He wasn’t a pawn in anyone else’s war. It was his life to live, his adventures to have. Then, Pike sat down next to Jim in that bar. Everything changed. “Your life,” Jim mutters. Angry as it makes him, he knows he won't win this fight.

“Sure is.” Han’s eyes glint. “Besides, I’m about to get some Federation provisions, right, captain?”

Jim rolls his eyes, but a deal is a deal.

He steels himself, stamping down his own pride. “Fine,” he relents. “You want to stand or sit?”

It’s a surprise when Han’s mouth slacks, a flicker of something in his eyes that looks suspiciously like hurt. “Hey, I don’t…” Han frowns, then blows out a breath, as if he’s convinced himself of something. Han's fingers drift under the collar of Jim's uniform. “Ok,” he says.

Han kisses Jim before he can ask what he means. Fingers coast through the hair at the base of Jim's scalp.

Jim doesn’t have the resolve to ward him off for long. He relaxes into the desk. Han’s weight reclines against him, and Jim shivers. His scent is like a time capsule to another part of his life. Han’s body still feels lean and strong under his hands. The first time, they could barely keep their hands off each other as they scrambled into Jim’s apartment. They left a path of clothing on the way to Jim’s bedroom. Jim thought Han was just a one timer passing through. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Han’s thumb draws over the top of Jim’s spine, and Jim warms at the touch. He hasn’t had this in awhile; no pressure, no work concerns, no threats. Just a memory of a time Jim remembers fondly but would never choose to go back to again.

“That’s better,” Han says, and his mouth drifts to Jim's neck. Jim’s attempt at words cracks into a startled groan. Han hums, and Jim feels the sound in his belly.

“Don’t you dare,” Jim hisses, but his voice lacks conviction. Han responds with a grin and teeth on skin. Something slippery-hot worms down Jim’s spine.

Han drags fingers up Jim’s stomach. “You smooth-shaved son of a bitch,” he murmurs.

Jim laughs, but the sound stutters out like a gasp. “Get off,” he says.

Han raises his head, and the heat in his eyes is more than Jim expects. It's hungry, and...vulnerable? Han swipes a thumb over the bruise he’s left on Jim’s neck, and Jim has to force himself to breathe. He's in trouble.

Mustering as much of a glare as he can manage, Jim pulls off his shirt. Han’s attention slides down Jim’s body, no attempt made to mask what he wants. His hand takes its time on Jim's stomach and chest. Jim is stronger than when Han last saw him, and Han clearly knows it. His eyes drink up every new line, every angle that was once the smoothness of youth.

Han grins and murmurs, “Now we’re talking.” Jim is mid-scowl when Han kisses him again. Han scrapes a thumbs against Jim’s neck. The bruise left by his mouth is hot and raw to the touch. Jim gasps, and Han swallows the sound greedily. Han’s hands seem to be everywhere at once. Jim feels warm all over, has it really been this long since he got laid? He needs to slow this down, to grab back control.

“Don't want you to think I ain’t grateful, kid,” Han murmurs. His voice is a breath. “You do this for me, I'll owe you one.”

“You'll owe me...what exactly?”

“Whatever you want." Han shrugs, far too casual. "Tatooine’s no easy ride. You get what you're after and make it out alive? Call it a parting gift.”

Whatever Jim wants. It’s a dangerously open offer. “What makes you think this is happening again?” he asks.

“You're adorable,” Han says, smiling. The sad truth is, he isn't wrong. Jim’s imagination is already out of control.

Jim holds Han’s eyes as he lowers to his knees. Humiliation flushes across his face, but it’s tempered by Han's visible shiver. His eyes are wider, smirk curled with intrigue.

Han's holster and pants are easy enough to unbuckle. He's already started, tenting out the front of the fabric. Jim hooks teeth into his own lip, concentrating on the task. Jim hasn’t done this in awhile. Stupidly, he wants it to be good. Han will never let him live it down if he’s not.

Jim bunches Han’s pants and briefs around his knees. Han is already thick and blushed, no question as to his interest. Han's eyes have taken on a wider pupil shine. “You going through with it, kid?” Han asks, an interesting tremor under his words.

Jim smiles. "Captain," he corrects.

Han is a good size. Big enough for Jim to know his jaw is going to ache when he’s done. The challenge excites Jim, despite himself. He's always liked doing this, maybe too much. Enough that it used to embarrass Jim; he held out long enough for a guy to  _base a business deal_ around getting it.

He darts his tongue across his lips, then eases in. Jim starts with tongue, a taste, a hand around the base of Han’s cock. He thumbs casually at Han’s balls, feels his thighs stiffen and a short grunt burst out. Han’s weight sinks against the desk’s edge, and Jim thinks about the corner denting his bare ass.

Jim curls his mouth wider. Han is warm and solid between his lips, a vague familiarity to his flavor. Jim feels comfortable. He drags his tongue and mouths the crown. New warmth rushes to Jim’s gut, soupy and distracting. Jim huffs and shifts. His Fleet-issued slacks cut into his erection.

“You, uh-” Han sounds soft and surprised, “You like this, huh?”

There’s no point in answering. Jim shoots Han an irritated look before angling his head. He squeezes the base of Han’s cock and swallows more of him down. He’s thick on Jim’s tongue, a heavy presence that makes his head spin. His mouth already feels full, stretched open, really nice. Jim's cheeks pull in. Han’s scent is so close here, the best kind of memory. Jim groans at the vein he finds, a gentle swell tickling his tongue.

Han fists his hair restlessly. Jim would grin if he could, but he only manages a chuckle. Han must feel it. His grip tightens. “Son of a bitch…”

Han thumbs at a corner of his lips. Jim shivers; his jaw strains, and his neck pulls tight. Jim’s eyes want to close, but he won't let them. Thin slits of iris follow Han's shaft up to his clenched stomach.

Han doesn’t seem sure where to put his hands. The one in his hair drifts to curl too tenderly against his cheek. Then, it grabs his shoulder tight, and Jim knows he's leaving bruises. Jim groans around Han’s erection, and Han goes still. This time, he can’t even muster a curse. His face struggles, like he wants to laugh but feels too good to manage it.

It's still not enough, Jim wants more. He drops his hand from Han’s shaft. Han cups the back of his head, shivering and tense. He wants to push but doesn’t want to hurt him, Jim can tell. It’s cute. He bobs his head deeper, angling his jaw, his face tight and sore. Tension flutters down Jim’s throat

It hurts, and it feels amazing. Jim shifts restlessly on his knees. His erection is getting hard to ignore. He’s in the worst position, slacks stretched tight against his body. New color warms his cheeks.

“Jim,” Han says. He doesn't sound like himself. Too quiet. Too unsteady.

Jim's throat is burning, but he still wants more, and his head tips until he can get Han all the way. Han’s cock weighs his tongue down. It cuts off Jim's air and sends his heart slamming against his chest. Jim snakes a hand down to cup himself. His own need froths desperately, body rebelling, but Jim isn’t stopping. Han's arousal muffles his moan, and Han’s waist jerks reflexively. His hissed “fuck!” is punctuated by fingers digging crescent nail marks into Jim's shoulders.

Jim pulls his cheeks in. Han’s skin is glossy and hot, slicking Jim’s mouth.

“Kriffing- hell, Jim-” Han’s voice is a mess, delectably hoarse. Jim squeezes himself through his pants. He's leaking, and his waist twitches. Jim bobs down eagerly. Han makes a sound, somewhere between growl and whine. Jim pursues it, faster, and grinds the heel of his palm into himself.

“Kid- fuck- Jim, Jim _Jim_ -” Han’s waist jumps. He comes, spasming between Jim’s lips. Jim groans, he can’t help it. His head is spinning, goosebumps blistered across his body.

Jim swallows. He told himself he wouldn’t, that he was already giving Han too much. But he can’t help himself, he’s lost in Han’s body twitching towards his. Han is too heavy in his mouth, it’s too good, the way he’s shivering and jerking, spurting down his throat. Jim digs his hand into himself, fever-hot and disoriented. Need throbs like an open wound between his legs.

He holds Han between his lips until he makes a weak sound and starts to move. Jim pretends he doesn’t hear the first time. He lowers his head lazily and coaxes with his tongue. Han gasps and blearily mumbles, “Kid...nnfh…”

Jim releases him slowly. His throat is raw, body distractingly tired. He starts to stand, and grimaces, wet and loose between his legs. Damn it.

Han grabs Jim's chin too fast for him to avoid it. The whimper is out before he even thinks to bite it back. Jim's face must be ridiculous, eyes wide and startled, mouth saliva-wet. Jim is shaking, clumsy on his knees.

“Did you…” Han croaks, staring with blatant amazement.

“Shut up,” Jim rasps. Han’s mouth quirks, but stunningly, he does shut up. Bristling, exhausted, Jim stands. His legs are like jelly, cooling release uncomfortable in his slacks.

He should say something about meeting his end of the bargain and needing to get cleaned up. He should tell Han to get the hell out of his office, he got what he came for.

Jim should do a lot of things that are not easing into Han's arms. It’s nostalgia. Just a job. It’s what Jim had to do. It’s an old friend. An old - whatever. It’s nothing.

Jim’s tired eyes close. Frustratingly, frighteningly - something between them changes.

*The End*


End file.
